Cameron
“Why do you want to pursue this, Cam?” Brent asked, looking at me with a bemused expression on his face. “I thought you were happy with the lifestyle and leisure beat? You were excited when we gave you that promotion.”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, doing my best to make my argument compelling. “Brent, I love working the lifestyle page,” I lied. “It’s been so great, but I’ve always dreamed of being on the crime beat. My minor in college was?—”
“Criminal psychology. I know. You’ve told me.Manytimes.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. Duly noted—keep my mouth shut about my background. Apparently, I’d mentioned it more than I realized.
Chastised but not broken, I went on. “Yes, sorry. What I meant was, I’ve always had a desire to follow this particular branch of reporting. I think I’ve found something that can be a big story if you give me free rein to research it.”
Brent leaned back, crossing his arms, but I knew the look on his face—he was going to hear me out.
“Give me the rundown,” Brent said.
My stomach flipped, and I had to suppress a smile. “Okay, so, you heard about me getting attacked the other day?”
His face grew somber. “I did. I hope you’re doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, waving that off. “When I went to the police precinct to turn in my written statement, I discovered there’s more going on here than meets the eye.” I crossed one leg over the other. “You know the three murders that have happened in the last few weeks? The lady found out on jogging trails in the north part of the city, another woman found in an alleyway downtown, and then a third woman killed in her apartment a few days ago?”
Brent’s brow furrowed. “Where are you going with this?”
“The detective I was speaking to aboutmycase let it slip that I resembled all three women. Dark or tanned complexion, chin to shoulder-length dark hair, similar age, and eye color.” I pulled the photos of the women I’d printed out of my briefcase and slid them across the table to Brent.
He studied them. “You think there’s a pattern here?”
Nodding eagerly, I said, “Another confidential source mentioned rumors circulating in the police department. A few cops seem to think these killings might be the work of a serial killer. All the killings show signs of an animal attack. He thinks there might be someone using a specially trained attack dog to commit these killings.”
“Jesus, Cam. Do you think this guy wanted to kill you the other night?” Brent gaped at me in horror.
The same thought that had chilled my blood earlier was pushed aside as I tried to convey my story. While a bit similar, the odds of my attacker being the serial killer were beyond astronomical.
“The odds are low,” I admitted, “but the possibility remains that this could have been the same person who killed those other women. I look like them, and the attack was aggressive. This guy may have targeted me.”
Brent shook his head in shocked wonder. “What did this detective say when you pressed him on it? I know you; I’m sure you pressed him.”
This time, I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Idid,in fact, push for more. He got very defensive when he found out I was a reporter. He wasn’t happy that I was asking questions and seemedreallyuncomfortable with it all. I’m telling you, Brent, the police are hiding something.
“My hunch?” I continued. “I think the department thinks they’re dealing with a serial killer. They want to keep it quiet until they’re sure. I bet they believe it’ll cause a city-wide panic. I’ve read about what happened back in the seventies with Son of Sam. It could get bad, and they’re trying to solve it before word gets out.” I jabbed the top of his desk for emphasis.
“And you want to be the one to cause the panic?” he asked with a wry smile.
“That’s not…” I sputtered. “No, I just think that if that’s what’s going on, the public should be aware.”
“Calm down, Torres. I’m fucking with you. I’m a newsman. It’s our job to report the news, not tell people how to react to it.”
“So, does that mean I can follow the lead?” I asked, hopefully.
He chewed the inside of his cheek and looked down at the pictures of the women. Finally, he looked up at me with a grim smile.
“Tell you what. Follow it for the next week, see if you can dig up anything more. If you can get enough for a full story, preferably a few good quotes, anonymous or otherwise? I’ll get you a spot on the front page.”
“No shit?” I gasped, then clamped my hand to my mouth.
Brent chuckled. “No shit, kid. But”—he held up a finger in warning—“if you think you get to shirk your assignments for the lifestyle beat, you got another think coming. If you want the accolades, you gotta work twice as hard. Speaking of which, don’t forget that North American Sewing and Quilting Convention you need to report on tomorrow.”
“You got it,” I said, my chest bursting with excitement. “I don’t care what you want to send me on. You can count on me. I promise.”
